


when there is nothing left to burn

by asexualizing (Specialcookies)



Category: The Hour
Genre: F/M, Fix It Fic, post 206, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Specialcookies/pseuds/asexualizing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In theory, nothing was supposed to fall apart this way when Randall started working there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when there is nothing left to burn

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so so so so so so much to the wonderful Ronnie who did the beta for this shit. It would have been so much worse without you.
> 
> the name is taken from 'your ex-lover is dead' by stars which was on a lix/randall fanmix that was very inspirational.

When Fredrick lies in the hospital bed, body made of cuts and bruises and on the edge on consciousness, Randall stands paralysed at the doorway. The asymmetrical furniture, the creased bedclothes of the second bed, dust dust dust that he knows is there, knows is everywhere – it's like being a fish that is helpless facing the bait. 

He goes in when Lix takes another look at him, only to quickly look back at Fredrick. This is all they've been doing since the night of the crucial report – exchanged glances. Fredrick's incident hadn't left room for anything else, and their own incident hadn't left them alone for long enough to be completely devoted to Fredrick. 

Randall thinks his hand is shaking, but he can't turn back now.

Miss Rowley barely registers his presence.

There's silence that has never been around Fredrick, for as long as Randall knows him, and it hangs still in the room like the scent of mould, demanding your attention as if it's not just a consequence of something.

When Randall starts going around the room, trying to hide the way he tidies things as much as he can, Lix and Miss Rowley are talking in hushed voices, and Randall does his best to ignore them. He doesn't feel that it's proper for him to be there anyhow. He doesn't feel that it is proper for him to say anything but, _I'm sorry_.

They don't interrupt him in his adjustments, and Fredrick is still unable to talk.

When Randall runs out of things to arrange, nothing feels in its right place, and that's, well, terrifying, because that's exactly what he's used to being afraid of.

*  
In theory, he has a newscast to run. 

In theory, he's supposed to sit in his office and go through the stories his staff deemed worthy of telling. Hector is not supposed to come straight from the hospital and Miss Rowley is not supposed to give out directions from near Fredrick's bed (Fredrick, who would have most certainly howled at everybody to go and do the damn news), and his researchers are not supposed to find him second-string subjects the last minute.

In theory, nothing was supposed to fall apart this way when Randall started working there.

*  
He doesn't sleep. Not really. Barely manages to close his eyes, and to actually fall asleep requires an exceeding amount of effort. The figure of a little girl haunts his dreams and the shadows around him. He envisions her crashing to death most of the times, but sometimes she's alive and breathing and playing like any other girl whose life was not cut short. Randall's not sure which one bothers him most.

There are the newspapers, but Randall finds that his mind drifts too easily away from the articles he's reading and not the other way around, and there are the books, but Randall finds fault in escapism. And then there are Brahms and Bach and Mozart. Randall sits in a chair near his kitchen table or in an armchair in his living room and listens to every note in atrocious concentration, sits like someone whose life was emptied out of him and clears his mind by sheer force of will. There is also Lix, who lets their fingers brush when they walk past each other, who still holds her cigarette in such a graceful manner that mesmerises Randall with each exhale of smoke, who drinks more whiskey than Randall can quantify and offers him to join her with her eyes. But Randall's not sure how to respond to her, now even more so than ever. He's hesitant when taking a step forward and always accompanies it with two steps backwards.  
It disturbs him. Randall's used to knowing exactly where he wants things to stand, and Lix is a collection of ink-stained clothes and dust on the camera lens and cigarette ash around her – a collection of what Randall shouldn't yearn for in this way, but he does.

Sometimes the light is shining through his window and Randall is indifferent to the time that has passed.

*  
Miss Rowley comes by when 'The Hour' is not on, every once in a while. She passes, bleary-eyed, between the rooms, moves in the frantic manner of a woman who's possessed by guilt, and Randall doesn't know how to tell her that it is okay.

She bears advice from Fredrick and cups of coffee she's devouring one after another (Randall heard their conversations through the door a few times, sort of. Heard more decibels than actual words. But it all seemed to be light-hearted arguments that occasionally ended with – 'but I'm alright,' and – 'you're a complete idiot,' and felt incredibly intimate, and occasionally with the enthusiasm of constructing an item).

They don't talk about Cilenti even though they should. They don't talk about the day Fredrick was conscious enough to give a statement to the police ("you did good," he said, cracked voice but still maintaining the same force of his, after the police left the room. And Randall told him, "you're still alive, Fredrick. Don't speak in past tense," and Fredrick smiled), even though they should.

All the words that bounce between them are the suggestions she's making and the instructions he's giving accordingly. 

*  
There are times in which Fredrick is surrounded by all the people that Randall knows, and Randall's finding it difficult to make head or tail of it all. Marine brings food to the hospital and Lix tells her she's a life-saver, and Sey Ola is there to explain the medical terms no one understands.

Fredrick is recovering slowly, but he's recovering, and the relief is present on everybody's faces and in everybody's work.

*  
In one staff meeting Miss Rowley says, "Freddie wants us to keep chasing Cilenti."

Randall lifts his eyes from the papers in front of his and says, sceptically, "and you?"

It takes nothing but a few seconds for Miss Rowley to say, "I agree with him."

Lix mumbles, "Bel…" and Hector clears his throat, and Randall's tone is the most determined that he's emitted in the past few weeks when he says, "No."

It becomes a conversation that should be carried out in four eyes only, but is not.

"We've uncovered everything we could have by now," Randall continues.

"And what are we supposed to do? Leave it to the police? We both know exactly how _that_ is going to end."

"And we both know exactly how it is going to end if we pursue it."

"We can't have –"

"We can't have another incident like that happening again. This is _my decision_ , and you will respect it." Randall's voice echoes in the room.

Bel is running her eyes desperately between Lix and Hector. "Have you got anything to say?"

"To be honest, I'm with Randall on this," says Hector.

"Of course you are." Randall has never heard words uttered so bitterly.

"With all that we've uncovered on the air it will be idiotic of the police to neglect it as per usual. The sensible move – "

"The _cowardly_ move – "

"We can only do more damage, Bel," Lix cuts them off, and at that the argument ends.

Later Miss Rowley comes by Randall's office on her own to pitch the idea of going to the streets with a camera and a microphone to ask for people's opinions on the items they broadcast. Randall gives permission.

*  
Fredrick is released from the hospital three days later and Randall knows he doesn't go back to his apartment. Randall also knows Sissy and her husband left the building as well.

They get updates from the police. El Paradis has been shut down, but they haven't gotten their hands around the people behind it, and nobody wants to think about the meaning of that.

*  
Back then, he and Lix used to have coffee and croissants in Paris. They would travel the city to find its most hidden places and the pictures they took filled albums upon albums, ones that are still stacked in neat lines on Randall's shelves; they smelled of freedom as they would with perfume.

Randall had done what needed to be done.

Now, they have a cup of tea, newspaper clippings and white pages scattered on the table before them; their burden is anything but invisible.

Randall had done what needed to be done.

"I was thinking…" opens Lix, her jacket hanging around her shoulders. She inhales deeply and then, "You don't look so good."

Randall glares at his steaming tea and searches for the alcohol that is not present in her breath this time. He clears his throat but can't respond. He must say he's not the only one, he must tell her not to worry herself. He wants to say, you too. He wants their communication to be reciprocal. The thing is, Randall knows at exactly what state she's seen him in, and he wants to forget it like he wants to forget the whole damn story, like he wants, sometimes, to forget the days in Paris. But it is not possible. Eventually, the words are blurted out of his mouth like a seizure:

"It happens. At... times like these." 

"I have a sofa at my house." She sips her drink. Randall lifts his head.

"Lix…"

"Be less alone, that's what I'm saying."

Randall can see the selfishness in the offer, and maybe that's what encourages him to agree.

*  
He arrives with a single backpack and in it pyjamas and some clothes, a toothbrush and his preferred brand of toothpaste, and Lix almost bursts out laughing in front of him.

His fingers clasp a little too tightly around the shoulder straps and his other hand adjusts his glasses on his nose. Then she says, "I'll fix you some beddings," and releases the bag from his grip to put it on a single chair standing in the kitchen. Randall begins saying, "You apartment – " and Lix finishes, "is a safety hazard. Feel free," and turns her back to him.

So it happens that her coffee table is cleaned of stains and her whiskeys are lined by years and the floor is dusted and the fridge stands almost empty after a thorough examination. So it happens that the pillow lies fluffed against the armrest and the blanket folded beside it, and Lix is sitting in the kitchen, "Frankenstein" in one hand and a cigarette in the other, adjusting her glasses every now and then.

When he was at his home, Randall felt the pressing need to throw everything to hell. He had nothing to fix, and the ashtray and the lighter on his coffee table were the victims of a constant change of angle. But Lix's apartment keeps him occupied in a way that usually would grant him a great deal of vexation from her, as with the pins on the cork board, and at the end of the day Randall feels a sort of gratification he can't put into words.

*  
Lix is visibly shaking, sometimes, while they watch black-and-white images on her tiny screen. They sit next to each other on the settee, wine or whiskey in their hands, and Randall sees her in the corner of his eye. He gently puts his hand above hers and there are times it helps, but there are times the shaking worsens, and he finds himself wrapping his arms around her shoulders while she cries. 

He thinks she's not mad at him anymore, not like at the beginning, and it scares him. He thinks about the way a film must be exposed to a certain amount of light in order to capture something, and he thinks about all the films they've burnt, and he wonders if everything was indeed necessary like he made himself believe.

He always finds that it was.

*  
The day comes when Randall brings with him more than one set of clothes when he goes to Lix's in the evening, and the day comes when she clears off a shelf in the closet. The day comes when his toothbrush is standing in the cup next to hers, and the day when his toothpaste runs out, and instead of buying another tube Randall just does the grocery shopping.

Nobody notices they come into the office together, or maybe they're just too polite to comment.

Randall makes the coffee in the morning, and they drink it reading articles aloud to each other while they chain-smoke. He sits in the passenger seat in Lix's car and goes through different radio stations, and Lix sometimes laughs when he just can't choose one.

There is something in Lix's laugh that makes him feel more comfortable with himself.

The day comes when Randall hasn't visited his own apartment for over a week, and he goes there just because the thought of dust frightens him to the point he thinks something else is going to break.

*  
Fredrick comes to the station on crutches, and everybody's shaking his hand and patting his back gingerly. He doesn't stay long enough for them to exchange more than few words, and in Randall's gut he knows this wasn't what Fredrick planned on doing.

*  
One night, after she gets up to turn the television off, Lix goes to her room without the usual good night wish, and Randall is worried until she comes back with a Polaroid and takes his picture before he can blink.

"And what was that for?" he asks, amused more than anything else.

"We need to move forward," she replies, flapping the clearing image and handing the camera to Randall, who gets up from the couch to take it.

He's always astounded by the ease in which you can freeze a moment, a piece of life. He knows what the bottom line is, it's just beams of light that get caught in the lens and chemicals that make them clear. But in the past, he looked at the present through the eye of the camera and it gave him the sense that eternity is not so inaccessible. 

For a certain period, Randall looked through the shutter of the camera and saw the past. Now, he looks at Lix through it, and he sees the future.

*  
He comes back later than Lix one night, and finds her sitting at the kitchen table with Miss Rowley opposite her, between them a half empty bottle of single malt. They look up at him when he closes the door.

At first, he's paralyzed. He's not sure why. He's not sure what he thought to himself, because obviously no one is that oblivious and the lies they told at the start of it to their joint colleagues have faded away a long time ago. It's just that… Randall felt safe in Lix's home in a way that makes him embarrassed now.

Miss Rowley (Bel, Bel, he reminds himself. He thinks they're past titles now), checks her watch then stubs the cigarette in the ashtray, gets up and fetches her coat. "I'd better go," she says.

Lix agrees, and they kiss each other's cheeks. Randall moves towards the table, and when Bel passes by him, they nod in acknowledgement.

When he looks at Lix again, she looks looser and less tired, and the need to thank Bel rises in him.

Randall places his briefcase on the table and takes a glass out of the cabinet, settles in the chair that Bel occupied, and Lix downs what remains in her glass and pours whiskey for the both of them.

She smiles. Randall smiles back.

"Are you comfortable? On the couch, I mean," she asks near the end of the bottle.

"As much as possible," he answers without thinking.

And then her hand is on top of his, and her fingers trace shapes lightly. She doesn't say anything else, and Randall stares at her wide-eyed and with a mouth as dry as cotton. 

"I think… I think you can come and sleep with me."

He wonders if it's the alcohol that makes her blunt or the alcohol that speaks. He says, "I think we're too drunk for it."

"Tomorrow," she says, clears her throat.

"If you'd still wish to."

*  
Their fingers are entwined under the blanket and Randall is lying on his back, Lix's head on his shoulder. 

"We can fix this," she says, and something's aching inside Randall's chest. He wanted to believe that and didn't realise how hard it is for him until this moment.

"Yes," he answers, even though it wasn't a question and Lix didn't sound like she needed approval, never sounds like she needs approval. "Yes, we can."

Lix's breaths are rhythmical, and his hold on her hand gets tighter.

He falls asleep.


End file.
